


The languor on his lips

by Lleu



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lleu/pseuds/Lleu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>                              All the morn</i><br/><i>He pipes, soft-swaying, and with half-shut eye,</i><br/><i>In rapt content of utterance, —</i><br/>                              <i>nor heeds</i><br/><i>The young God standing in his branchy place,</i><br/><i>The languor on his lips, and in his face,</i><br/><i>Divinely inaccessible, the scorn.</i></p>
<p>Robin is straight. Much is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The languor on his lips

**Author's Note:**

> Title and epigram from Charles G.D. Roberts's poem "Marsyas".

If there's one thing Much has learned about Robin in these first few months of college, it's that Robin doesn't believe in committed relationships. Well, that and that Robin is aggressively heterosexual. Not aggressively in that he's aggressive: Robin may have a large ego, but he has never, at least as far as Much has seen, ignored a girl's boundaries. As Robin put it one night when they were sitting in Much's common room with a newly opened handle of vodka, pregaming for some party Robin had been invited to, with so many girls _wanting_ to sleep with him, why would he ever press the issue with someone who didn't? (This reasoning makes Much uncomfortable, but he doesn't have the words to articulate why just yet.)

No, aggressively heterosexual in that Robin is utterly and unapologetically straight. And Much is crushing hard on him; he can't help it.

Not that he'd ever admit that to Robin, of course, or to anyone else, for that matter. What would he tell Robin? That he jacks off every night imagining Robin's mouth around his cock, wondering how that carefully cultivated stubble would feel on his cheek, those hands on his skin?

He's even seen Robin naked; that certainly didn't help. It was the first weekend after classes started, and Robin was very drunk and decided he needed to take a shower right then, and by right then he really meant right then and suddenly all his clothes were on the floor and Much politely averted his eyes but not after getting a look at all of Robin. Robin certainly didn't mind; he had a nice body and he knew it.

But Robin's straight. There've been enough girls (and enough talking about girls, both hypothetically and in particular) to make that abundantly clear. Under normal circumstances, Much would probably be bored listening to Robin ramble on about whichever girl it is this week, but it's Robin talking, and Much can't get enough of just his voice, the smooth, almost lazy confidence in every word, every sentence. The same confidence that's in everything Robin does, whether it's lounging on the futon in his common room or chatting up a girl at a party in their entryway. Moments where Robin is blatantly egotistical just endear him more to Much. He can't stop himself: he can't be objective where Robin's concerned.

Which is why one day in early December when Robin says, "I'm bored; let's jack off," Much doesn't say no. He _knows_ it doesn't mean anything. Well, he amends, it means Robin doesn't think he'll be put off by the suggestion, whatever _that_ actually means. Frankly, sometimes he feels like Robin sees him as part of the scenery, a convenient prop that follows him around and backs him up when he needs it.

"Let's move to my room," Robin says, hand already down the front of his pants. "That way my suitemates won't walk in on us."

Much nods and follows Robin into his room. _Thank god Robin has a single_ , he thinks. And then, when the door closes behind them and Robin's shirt is suddenly off and dropping to the floor (how does he _do_ that, get it off so fast?), _What have I gotten myself into?_ But it's too late to back out.

"We'll both fit on the bed," Robin says, unzipping his jeans and slipping deftly out of both pants and underwear. He stops and looks at Much, who realizes his mouth is hanging open and quickly closes it. "Well?"

"Sorry," Much mutters, struggling to avert his eyes from the sight of Robin's hard-on. Robin either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

"Should I put some porn on or something?" Robin asks. Much pauses halfway through removing his shirt and swallows. He hadn't thought of that.

"Uh—" he starts, then stops. Where can he even begin? What do you say in this context? "If you want?" Was that right?

"Eh, I think I'll be fine," Robin says, apparently oblivious to Much's discomfort. Much finishes taking his shirt off, then turns to his own jeans. This is it: is he really going to do this? Robin's already gotten up onto the bed, totally naked. Much looks away again; too distracting. He slowly, carefully undoes the button of his jeans, pulls the zipper down, and slides them off. Just his boxers left.

"Are you coming or not?" Robin says, smiling at his own joke.

"Yeah," Much says, and pulls his boxers down, realizing as he does so that he's forgotten to take off his socks. He slips them off and straightens up. He's hard as a rock, which he supposes isn't that surprising, since he hasn't had a chance to jack off in a few days himself: too much work, and too much roommate around. He's never been able to do it in showers, even if he didn't feel awkward doing it in a shared bathroom, and anyway his entryway has been told once already to stop clogging the drains with semen.

"Hop up," Robin says, patting the bed next to him, and Much does. He looks at Robin, unsure what to do now. Robin's eyes are closed; his right hand is on his dick, his fingers circling around the head, and his left hand is stroking his chest. Much feels his own cock jump and wraps his hand around it, his fist sliding up and down.

Robin's eyes flick open. "Do you want lube?"

"Uh…if you have it on hand, I guess," Much says, shrugging.

"Sure," Robin says, grinning. He rummages in the clutter on his desk, his left hand moving from his chest down to his cock as his right hand emerges from the mounds of papers and other junk with a small tube, which he flips open. Much's own hands are frozen in place as he watches Robin squeeze some lube out into his hand. Then Robin offers Much the tube.

"Thanks," Much says, taking it, his fingers brushing against Robin's. Robin's fingers that were on Robin's dick about thirty seconds before. Much squirts some of the lube into his own hand, then looks at the tube. "Where should I put this?"

"Hm?" Robin looks over at him. "Oh, just throw it on the floor for now." Much does. "Now just…go."

So Much does, watching Robin out of the corner of his eye. If he thought Robin looked good before, he looks even better naked and hard, his eyes closed, his right hand back to playing with the head of his dick, almost lazily, his left hand fondling his balls. Much feels his own cock throb in his hand and speeds up his movement. He's not used to lube, the slickness of it, and he can feel himself getting closer to the edge.

"Hey, slow down," Robin says, and Much glances over to see Robin's smiling at him. "There's no rush. Take your time. See?"

Robin nods towards his own crotch. He's going slowly, like a porn actor; Much never knew anyone actually _did_ jack off that way, not off his computer screen, anyway. It's mesmerizing, and he finds himself matching Robin's slow rhythm.

"There you go," Robin says, and his eyes drift closed. "Enjoy it. Let it linger."

"Robin, I—" Much begins.

"Shh," Robin says, and Much obeys. For several minutes the only sound is the slow, wet sound of skin on skin. Much doesn't think he's ever been more aroused in his life. _And probably never will be after_ , he adds silently. He looks at Robin again and shivers at the sight of him, just as Robin's left hand runs its fingers through the dark trail of hair above his cock.

"Robin—" Much starts again, but Robin cuts him off.

"Soon," is all he says. Then, "Faster now."

Robin speeds up, and Much matches him. He's getting very close. _Very_ close.

"Robin, I—hng," is all he manages, and then he's coming, riding that wave of pleasure. He turns to look at Robin, only to find Robin already looking at him. Their eyes lock, and then—"Hn-fuck!" Robin comes, too, his stomach and chest spattered with white droplets. They're both panting, catching their breath.

After a moment, Robin closes his eyes again and brings his hand up to his mouth and (Much shudders, and he's not sure if it's just another aftershock of orgasm or what) licks a strand of come off his thumb.

"Tissue?" Robin offers, opening his eyes again and reaching for the box on his desk and offering one to Much.

"Thanks," Much says, taking the offered tissue from Robin (and oh, god, that hand had Robin's come on it a second ago; this moment is going to fuel his fantasies forever) and cleaning himself up; Robin does the same.

"You missed a spot," Robin says as Much crumples up the now-soaked tissue. "Here." And Robin reaches over with his own tissue to snag the little drop just below Much's right nipple. The joint of Robin's thumb brushes against the nipple and Much almost thinks he could come again right there.

Then the moment passes. They slip back into their clothes. Much goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. Robin settles back to complaining about his English class. They don't talk about it again for a long time.


End file.
